Five Unsolved Mysteries
by sarapals with past50
Summary: A short story as Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom along with several old friends attempt to solve mysteries from their past. Set after the CSI finale as an exciting life is being built by our favorite couple! Of course, it is GSR and - of course, it's happy!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: A new story set after the CSI finale that involves five unsolved mysteries and cold cases bringing several old friends into their current life. Long time CSI fans will recognize other characters! Enjoy!_

 **Five Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 1**

The air was warm and smelled of salt and tropical sweetness—a sure sign of a slight change in weather. By the calendar, spring had arrived yet the city had almost the same season year-round. No one worried about winter or cold or snow and therein was the charm of this ever-growing city of unique neighborhoods with its gentle, unthreatening weather and proximity to oxygen-rich air. It truly was a wonderful place to be—on the watery edge of the giant land mass of North America—enjoying breakfast on a terrace while watching the pink dawn dissolve into a clear blue sky, walking at mid-day with breaking into a sweat, and wearing a sweater by the time the sun set over the ocean. Life was good, thought the man carrying fresh flowers and a crusty loaf of warm bread.

It was easy to forget the violence of the past, the many deaths of those innocent and guilty faces when each day the palms waved in a gentle breeze, the tide came in and out, occasional clouds brought rain showers and hours were spent with people one loved and who loved in return.

A good place, thought the man walking along a sidewalk edged with houses on one side and a flat, calm canal on the other.

Paying little attention to the pricy real estate he passed, Jim Brass paced himself to slow down and let fresh air flood into his body. In no hurry, he slowed to a leisurely stroll. He had never given much thought to spring time while in Vegas but here—here, he noticed the raked beds and tiny flowers visible amidst the grass. White, yellow, pink, and red ones sprouted from shrubs; boxes and baskets filled with flowers lined porch railings. He had no idea of names of most flowers, especially those that grew in containers but he knew lilacs and had a bundle with him he had purchased in the flower shop.

Birds, he noticed, were busy on the ground, in the air, squabbling over something. Quietly, he chuckled as he came to a private conclusion that he was officially retired if he was watching birds.

The path was an old one, put in place decades ago when the neighborhood was planned and houses were built to front narrow waterways, now bordered with wild growing plants in one place and ordered rows of multi-colored flowers in other places giving the impression of unregulated development which he knew to be untrue. He had made this trip so often in recent weeks that he could trace this explosion of new and colorful growth to spring rains occurring several days apart.

His reverie was broken by the piping sounds of wordless joy from the stroller he was pushing. By her sing-song chatter, he knew she was happy, enjoying the outing as much as he was.

Stretching his arm, he patted the child's head. She looked up, smiling, showing a row of bright white teeth, in the same way her mother did.

"We're almost home," he said.

The little girl pointed to a bridge crossing the canal. "Boats," she said.

Brass chuckled and turned the stroller toward the foot bridge. This little girl had never babbled in the way of most children; she said words clearly and knew what she meant.

"Canoe!" Her voice lifted in excitement as they reached the top of the bridge. Her finger pointed to the canoe resting on the bank. Moving her finger to point at another boat, she said, "Dinghy!" She looked up at Brass, smiling before saying, "My dinghy?"

She could make him laugh more than anyone had in decades; nodding as he answered, amusement in his voice, he said, "It certainly is—your name is written on the side of your dinghy."

When she leaned forward, rising on her toes, he lifted her from the stroller and watched as she gained her footing and ambled in the way of toddlers to the base of the bridge. Collecting several small rocks, she returned to where he stood and dropped the stones into the water one at a time.

Brass waited as the child repeated collecting small rocks and dropping them in the water three times before losing interest. Taking his hand, she said, "Home" and then, with sparkling eyes and an impish grin, added "Cookies, too."

Laughing, Jim agreed, saying, "Yes, a cookie, too. One for you and one for me."

He had learned to multi-task in different ways in the past months so the lilacs went into the stroller which he could maneuver with one hand and he took the small hand in his and the two headed home, slowly, as the child he loved smelled flowers, picked up more small stones and placed them in the stroller, and pointed to bees pollinating jasmine.

He did not think about his life most days, but today, watching the little girl discover and rediscover the signs of spring, his memory went back to another time and another little girl. A blink of his eyes moved his thoughts ahead to the tragedy of his daughter because Ellie would always be his child. Another blink and he was in a more recent place, working for Catherine Willows, until a fiery car bomb had put him in the hospital for a while.

By the time he'd gotten his wits together, Sara Sidle was on a boat, heading into a new chapter with his old buddy, Gil Grissom. He had gotten a short message from her; her voice filled with excited anticipation. At the time, he had thought he might never see either of them again.

Fourteen months ago, he had gotten a phone call which had brought him to the west coast and this place of peaceful tranquility; a unique neighborhood tucked near a popular beach and a beautiful house that had been purchased by Gil Grissom's mother at a time when the neighborhood had been on the verge of demolition. That had not happened.

The house had become home for the dearest, sweetest woman he had ever known and her cantankerous but loveable husband who had asked him to be godfather to their daughter. From that day, Jim Brass has been affectionately involved in the life of their daughter, appropriately named after her grandmother and lovingly called Beth.

 **A/N:** _As always, we appreciate hearing from readers! Thank you for your support and encouragement!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: A new chapter-thank you for all your comments!**_

 **Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 2**

Jim Brass pushed the porch swing with his foot, holding the sleeping Beth against his shoulder, as the chain creaked in a comforting rhythm. Not for the first time, he marveled at life and its changes. He lived a few blocks away in a building owned by Gil Grissom, again, thanks to the investing strategies of Betty Grissom.

The always-stylish, intelligent woman who could not hear a sound had a talent for collecting real estate and selecting stock which grew into quite a fortune. Even Grissom, who had neglected his mother's trust for years, had been stunned to learn of his mother's wealth. An apartment building, an art gallery, a very profitable stock portfolio, and this house—Brass chuckled at the richness of life.

The house was exceptional, warm, inviting, tasteful, and wonderfully furnished for a child; he knew Sara had been involved in renovating and decorating for six months before Beth was born. Patting the back of the young child, he was, again, amazed at the beauty of science.

Quietly, he laughed again as he shifted to a more comfortable position and thought for a minute about putting Beth to bed. But then he buried his nose in her dark curly hair and breathed deeply. For an instant, he was back in the past, slipping away from work to be with Ellie when she was a toddler. Smiling, he decided they could sit on the swing until she woke up.

**-An early morning fog had cleared quickly to present a perfect day; a cloudless sky, a cool breeze, a sparkling ocean, and wildlife providing entertainment for the three guests provided perfect conditions. Sea lions had been lounging on the beach, a dozen dolphins had surfed alongside the boat, and, as Gil Grissom turned the boat eastward, a large bird sailed high above, its white head flashing in the sun.

"Look up!" He called to his passengers.

The bird circled, high above the water, in search of prey; in a blink, the eagle dropped, talons extended, touched the water, barely causing a ripple, before lifting with a small silver fish.

"Did you see that?" Greg Sanders delightfully shouted his words skyward. "Can you believe we got to see that! This has been a perfect day!"

Laughing, Grissom shook his head; Greg's enthusiasm had not diminished all day.

Almost two decades had passed since the boy with the wild hair had shown up in the Vegas crime lab as one of three final applicants. Grissom remembered making the final decision that placed Greg on the grave shift—and, as Greg was fond of saying—the best decision ever made.

Now, Greg held the job Grissom had once had.

The lone woman on the boat, Catherine Willows, handed binoculars to Greg, saying, "Use these, Greg." Catherine's ownership of a Vegas casino had finally won her full attention; she'd been lab director for six months after Sara left before turning the lab over to Greg.

Grissom was pleased Catherine had agreed to this trip. When Greg and Nick had donned snorkels and masks and jumped into the ocean, Catherine had dangled her feet over the side of the boat as young sea lions swam in curlicues and figure eights around the two men in the water.

Nick Stokes made the trip from San Diego every month or so, sometimes on business but more often as a visitor in their home. He had always been a good friend to Sara and as time passed, he had become an enjoyable and steadfast friend to both.

They had lunched at the environmental institute with a couple of researchers who were excited to have an audience of three who had not heard about their work. Admiration and compliments were given for their former supervisor-turned-environmentalist until the blushing man protested their words.

Afterwards, they had returned to the boat and headed around the island. Greg had stood topside on the fly bridge and gazed at the water, suddenly turning, a loopy grin on his face, and yelled at Nick and Catherine.

They could not hear what he was saying—the wind and the throbbing of the diesel engine prevented hearing his words—but the excitement in his face and waving of his arms got them to the side of the boat in time to see blue-gray rockets launch into the air. Five or six dolphins broke the surface of the water and drew a perfect arc in the sparkling light before disappearing for a few minutes, returning to twist, jump, and flip in a play of synchronized swimming.

When the boat entered the marina, the three passengers seemed surprised at their arrival, lulled into a late afternoon trance brought on by a full day in the sun. After securing the boat, stowing equipment and gear, and helping his guests gather belongings, Grissom led the way along a sidewalk, returning home.

**-"There you are! You were so quiet I didn't realize you were back until I saw the lilacs." Sara Sidle Grissom stood at the open door, a broad smile across her face; her hands moved along her back in self-massaging motion.

Brass grinned. "We were quiet as mice—and eating cookies." He waved a hand toward the space on the swing. "Join us—I'll push." His foot held the swing still while she walked over. He said, "You needed rest—when they return they'll be hungry enough to eat chair legs."

Easing into the swing, she said, "It's all prepared—just out of the refrigerator and on the table."

"We could have eaten at a restaurant—less work on you."

Sara laughed, settling her hands across her belly. "We can talk better here. And we see each other so rarely, it'll be nice to have everyone here—even if someone goes to sleep on the sofa—we'll continue to talk." Taking a deep breath, she sighed, one hand moving across her shirt. She said, "I don't think I'll go another month, Jim."

"You're not…"

"No, no, I'm not," Sara said with a laugh. "I'm fine—just seem to be," she groaned as her hand rubbed her belly. "Exhausted—heavy. This guy's definitely bigger than Beth was."

This time Brass laughed. "She's a delicate looking little thing, isn't she?"

"Though she be but little, she is fierce—Shakespeare—according to her dad."

Another chuckle came from Brass as he gently pushed the swing again. "Is everything ready for this little guy? God in heaven—I never thought Gil Grissom would be a father, not once but twice! Got a name picked out?"

Leaning her head back, Sara smiled, saying, "Beth is named after her grandmothers. Did you know Gil is named after his grandfather? And he doesn't want a 'Junior'—so I think we've decided on Henry—my father—and Anthony using Gil's middle name and his father's name."

"Henry Anthony Grissom has a good sound to it," said Brass. "A nice ring to it—Beth and Henry—I like it."

The little girl on his shoulder stirred; her lips smacked as she sucked on her bottom lip for several seconds.

Sara said, "I'll get her bottle." Remaining on the swing, she added, "The books say it's time to give up her bottle—but I just can't do that right now—not with what's coming up."

"We'll get her bottle—you stay here." Brass said as he stood up, cradling the little girl against his shoulder as she began to stir awake. Kissing the top of her head, he said, "Beth loves her Unky Jim."

By the time he filled a bottle with milk, Sara was in the kitchen.

She said, "Got a phone call—they are coming into the marina."

Brass sat Beth on the counter top with her bottle of milk, saying, "I can get drinks ready and watch Beth—you get off your feet." He grinned, "I don't want baby Henry coming too soon."

Leaning against the counter, Sara kissed her daughter and got a milky lopsided grin, the bottle nipple held tight with Beth's teeth.

Sara said, "I think my feet have disappeared."

When Brass laughed, the little girl gave her mother a quizzical glance before dropping her brown eyes to the floor. Removing the bottle from her mouth and pointing to the floor, she said, "Your feet 'dere, Mama."

For a long moment, Sara and Brass stared at the child before Sara and Brass laughed. Sara said "Her first sentence, Jim! Her first sentence—and it's about my swollen feet!"

 _A/N: Now, take 30 seconds and leave a comment! We appreciate all of you! Long live GSR!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank you for your support! Remember to leave a few words/comments as a review!**_

 **Five Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 3**

Gil Grissom looked around his home with satisfaction. The place was furnished with good, comfortable furniture that seemed to belong in the house. Easy chairs appeared to be placed at random but closer scrutiny would prove otherwise. Two sofas, placed parallel with a large wooden table in the space between, were where his guests were seated. Behind the sofas were walls of books extending through the dining room. One wall was broken by a wide doorway leading to two small bedrooms, a bathroom and laundry. The staircase to the upper floor had additional bookshelves built as high as his head. Three large rooms, two bedrooms and an office, and two bathrooms were upstairs and used for guests but Grissom imagined a time when he and Sara would have one of those bedrooms facing the canal.

A well-furnished and recently upgraded kitchen spanned the back part of the house; an original brick floor led to French doors opening to a small walled-in garden. The garden was Sara's pride and physical labor producing cucumbers, squash, tomatoes, beans, and every herb plant known to grow.

"Grissom!"

The sound of his name brought him from his thoughts about his home. "Yes, Catherine."

"You were a million miles away," she said as she handed a glass to him.

Smiling, he said, "I'm right here—admiring our guests!" He raised his glass to those around him.

Catherine settled on the sofa across from him; next to her was Greg. Both showing a touch of sun-redden glow on their faces. Jim Brass had nestled into the corner of the sofa with Beth but the child's attentions had transferred to Nick who sat in one of the chairs between the sofas. She was easily entertained climbing between the two men, giggling every time she fell into one's lap.

His eyes darted quickly to his wife, the unacknowledged center of everyone's attention. She was stretched along beside him, her bare feet placed in his lap. With his free hand, he massaged her foot. Her hand moved back and forth over her basketball-size tummy; no, he thought, she was bigger than a basketball.

Everyone turned to focus on Catherine and what she'd said.

"Unsolved mysteries?" Grissom asked. "What about them?"

Greg groaned, saying, "Nothing—she just likes the sound of those words! Life is an unsolved mystery." Drawing his words out, he spread his arms.

"He's a philosopher now," laughed Nick batting away Greg's hand in front of his face.

Catherine gave both men a reproachful look. She said, "I am talking about unsolved cases—we've all worked them—some of them together. I want to know how you'd solve them today."

Brass made a bubbling, playful sound in response to a giggling baby girl who appeared to be blowing on his face. Moving her around, he said, "I have one—got away from us—some of you will remember these two."

"Who?" Echoed around the room as five people said the same word.

Silent for a minute or two, adjusting little Beth so she crawled to Nick, Brass said, "Who remembers Bob Fairmont?"

Sara raised her hand, saying, "Selenium poisoning!"

"Organ donor—I don't remember his name but I remember talking to the man who got his—kidney or liver," Nick said.

Catherine mumbled, "Bob Fairmont…Bob Fairmont…an organ donor," as she appeared to be searching her memory.

Quietly, Grissom said, "His wife and the secretary—they did it together but we had nothing—not enough to charge either one. Wasn't the secretary's husband dead from selenium poisoning too?"

"I remember now—we exhumed a body from Arizona. Both men had been poisoned with selenium and the women lawyered up—said enough to confuse everyone," Catherine said.

"Condom," Greg added. "In the hotel room—wasn't he in the room with his wife?"

Sara groaned and said, "Oh, dear Greg, why do you remember a condom?"

Everyone laughed as Brass said, "Unsolved—the women left town but I kept a tab on them for years. Dear old Bob Fairmont had several million in insurance and they lived well—trips to Europe, cruise to Alaska—before they ended up in Hawaii."

"We know they killed those men," Grissom said.

"Tell us—what happened," said Sara as she lifted Beth to the sofa.

Grissom reached for his daughter, quietly saying, "Someone is sleepy." When Sara started to move her feet to the floor, he said, "I'll get her ready—you stay here." He stood, looked at Brass and said, "Hold until I return—anyone need a drink?"

Fifteen minutes later, he returned to find everyone as he'd left them but with fresh drinks. He said, "Okay, she's down and out—where were we?"

Motioning for Sara to sit up, he settled beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She easily fit into his embrace, instinct turned her face to his as he kissed her cheek and his hand covered her pregnant belly.

Catherine and Greg glanced at each other; they had heard from Nick about such moments of intimacy between the couple but seeing it, the gentle and natural tenderness between two people they had known for decades, revealed an unexpected devotion shown without a words being spoken.

Brass picked up the story, saying, "They kept a low profile for several years, then Julia fell in love—this time with a woman." His eyebrows lifted; a grin formed on his face indicating an unexpected surprise. "And she wasn't wealthy—she worked in a restaurant in Hilo, lived in an apartment."

"How do you know all of this?" Sara asked. "I don't see you on social media searching for boyfriends and girlfriends."

He laughed, saying, "I'm a detective—so when they moved to Hawaii, I called the locals. Hilo is a small town—talked to the police chief several times about the ladies and their ex-husbands." He shrugged. "So every six months or so, he'd call me with a report.

"When the new girlfriend appeared, he—the chief—didn't think there was any danger. The woman had no money but he kept an eye on the threesome." Throwing his hands up, he continued, "One day, he called to say Claudia had been found in a ravine near a hiking trail—Julia Fairmont had an alibi and the girlfriend was at work."

Brass stopped talking, spreading his hands out, shrugging his shoulders. There was silence for a full minute before Sara said, "And that's all?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No. About a year later, I got a call from the chief to tell me that Julia Fairmont was in prison." A shrug, "So—how'd she get there?"

"Wait!" Nick raised his arm, saying, "Let us think for five minutes—we'll see if we come up with the answer."

After five minutes, Brass looked at Nick. "You go first."

Nick shook his head. "No poisons because I think that would have been checked. Since Julia is in prison, she had to be involved—did she pay someone to kill Claudia?"

"Catherine?" Brass nodded in her direction.

"The new girlfriend—decided she didn't like a threesome—she liked Julia better." She frowned as she spoke, "but Julia is in prison. What happened to the girlfriend?"

Again, Brass shook his head, saying, "Girlfriend, after an appropriate period of mourning, moved on—not in jail." He nodded in Greg's direction, saying, "Greg?"

"We know Julia is in prison—so she is guilty. She must have paid someone for her alibi—and that person or persons became a suspect and rolled on Julia."

"Okay, Grissom—your turn."

"Can I ask questions?"

"Sure."

"Was she dressed for hiking?"

"Yes—she was known on the trail—by other hikers."

Grissom thoughtfully rubbed his chin before he asked, "Any other way to access the ravine—maybe by road or another trail?"

"No."

"Can we find out who found her?"

Brass nodded, saying, "Other hikers—they were all above suspicion. Noticed a red color from a bend in the trail and called authorities."

Grissom ticked off the theories from the others and then said, "There is something we do not know, isn't there?"

An edge of a smile appeared on Brass' face.

A heavy sigh followed by a short laugh came from Sara causing everyone to look at her.

"Okay, Sidle—tell us what you've figured out." Grissom said with a chuckle, adding, "You've had more than five minutes."

"There is no statute of limitation on murder," she said. "One question—where is Julia Fairmont in prison?"

Brass shook with silent laughter, pointing a finger at her. He said, "Arizona."

"Claudia's husband," Sara said. "That's where he died—she was angry with Julia and sent some kind of evidence to Arizona. Then—she killed herself, didn't she."

There was a moment of silence as Brass looked at the others, before saying, "She's right—Claudia killed herself but before she did, she sent enough evidence to the Arizona Bureau of Investigation who charged Julia Fairmont with killing Claudia's husband."

Nick and Grissom laughed; Catherine dropped her head in her hand.

Greg said, "I never thought about the other murders."

Grissom untangled from his wife and got to his feet, laughing as he said, "Who needs a refill? Who wants dessert? I know there are strawberries to go on top of that cheesecake in the refrigerator."

 _A/N: More coming soon...thank you for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thanks so much for following our story! Enjoy...and please take a minute to leave a comment!**_

 **Chapter 4**

The group had gathered around the oval dining room table and eaten most of the cheesecake, the strawberries, and the whipped cream Grissom had placed on the table. Their conversation had been light and humor-filled until Catherine asked Nick if he had a case for them.

"Another one?" Greg asked, groaning and raking his fingers through his hair. "Isn't it bedtime?"

Catherine, sitting next to him, punched him with her elbow, saying, "Oh, come on, Greg—it's fun reliving our time together. Nick's turn and then you come up with one."

With a grin, he said, "I've got to have coffee. Another of these and I'm out for the night." He held his wine glass up as he stood. "Who else?"

Grissom stood, walking to the coffee maker as four others voiced consent, and in a few minutes, everyone but Sara had coffee in hand. Grissom fixed his wife a cup of tea and brought it to the table.

"You okay?" He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and then kissing her forehead.

She nodded, saying, "I can't wait to hear what Nick and Greg have to say—on with the unsolved mysteries!"

"Unsolved—not, one unpunished—the one that still gets under my skin wasn't unsolved—we solved it. But the Sheriff would not bring charges! So I'm cheating to say this is an unsolved case." Nick leaned forward, moved his empty plate and crossed his arms, saying, "A case we worked together—I think it was Sara's first year with us. And I don't remember another one like this one."

"A murder?" Asked Grissom as he stacked plates together.

"Oh, yeah. Remember Tony Candlewell? Killed in first class flying into Vegas."

Multiple groans, moans, and sighs came from everyone around the table as memories returned to the hours spent working on the case of a dead passenger in an airplane.

"I remember this one!" Sara said soberly. "We stayed in that plane for hours, it seemed."

"Poor guy had an infection—encephalitis—high body temp, horrible headache, add cabin pressure—that caused him to act out on the plane," Grissom said. "You are right—the sheriff would not agree to file charges on anyone."

"Five people," Nick said, "kicked Tony Candlewell to death—and got away with it."

Sara said, "They should have been charged with negligence for never asking Candlewell what was wrong with him."

Catherine objected, saying, "They were—were in an airplane, in the air—the safety of everyone on that plane was in danger. I don't know—I think I agreed with the sheriff."

"That's not an unsolved case—you'll have to come up with another one," Greg said.

"Yes," agreed Sara, "you need another one—all of us agree that one was solved—just never charged."

"Okay, okay," Nick said. "There's another one—still bothers me—it was the murder of the thirteen year old girl who had gone to gymnastics and never made it home." He looked at Catherine, saying, "It happened during one of those times when we were short handed." A nod toward Sara and Grissom, "That time when you two ran off to Paris and got married."

Everyone around the table laughed.

"Lara Matthews," said Catherine, "I remember the case. Even the tracker dogs couldn't find a scent."

Nick shook his head, saying, "The dogs found her scent and tracked her to a parking lot and that's where she disappeared. Next door was a dance club—over one hundred people had been in the club in twenty-four hours but because the club required a membership card to get in, we managed to track down all but a dozen of them."

Catherine said, "We never had a real suspect—nothing—nothing to indicate anyone in the club had any connection to Lara. We looked at the family and found nothing."

Leaning back in his chair, Nick continued, "Two months—nothing—and then her body was found by a man flying a remote control airplane—out in the western desert."

"She was wearing a Hello Kitty sweatshirt—I remember that," whispered Catherine.

Greg chimed in, saying, "I remember this—we went back to the club—the owners helped us get sixty-seventy men in there to check DNA."

"Right. She also had blood on a sleeve that matched one of the gymnastics instructors who said it came from a nosebleed a week before Lara disappeared. The DNA was male, so we went to the club. From members at the club we found one man who matched the DNA found on Lara's body but not completely—not enough—familial DNA. So we went to his male relatives—his father was dead but he had two uncles and they didn't match."

"When we found something that I thought would advance the case, it turned into a dead end," Catherine said. "Finally—wasn't it filed as a cold case?"

Nick smiled before saying, "Yes and no. After talking to the uncles, I learned their brother—and the father of the guy with the almost-match DNA—drove a city bus.

"I returned to the wife—the mother of the guy with the close match of DNA—and explained to her about DNA and asked if she had anything from her late husband. He'd been dead a decade so she didn't think she had anything—then she asked if an envelope would work. She gave me an old letter her husband had sent her years before. Can you believe Hodges got DNA from the stamp on the letter? I had DNA from a dead man and his son but the DNA found on Lara Matthews wasn't a match. Close, but not enough—had to be another relative."

Sara said, "So there were other children—with other women?"

Nodding, Nick continued, "Finally, I got with some of the bus drivers and a couple of them were helpful with several names. I found two women who admitted to having affairs with the bus driver and one of these women had two sons—one of them wasn't in Vegas at the time of Lara's murder. So, I called in a favor and got the one in Vegas stopped by traffic police and he agreed to a breathalyzer—and I had his DNA."

"Smart move, Nick," Grissom said with a grin.

Nick murmured a "thank you" at the compliment and then grinned. He said, "Almost a match—but wasn't." Shaking his head, he continued, "Somewhere there is another son who murdered this child but I have never been able to find the right one."

"Nothing from CODIS, right," asked Sara. "What about these genealogy websites? Everyone is sending DNA to find out who their ancestors were and if there are unknown family members who might be found with genealogy—have you thought of that?"

A sheepish grin formed on Nick's face. He said, "I paid for the son to do it last year—he's promised to call me if anything comes up. But so far—nothing."

The group at the table had listened intently to Nick's narration, forgetting their coffee as he talked.

After a long silence, Sara got to her feet and said, "How about a warm-up on coffee?"

"I'll get it," Grissom said.

"No, no, I need to stretch," she said as she walked to the coffee pot.

Leaning across the table, Catherine whispered, "Is she going to make it another month, Gil?"

"I hear you, Catherine," Sara called from the kitchen. "I think this boy already weighs more than Beth did at birth." With a giggle, she returned with the coffee pot. She said, "We know he's got a tiny cleft in his chin!"

Nick's face and voice expressed his amazement as he said, "How do you know that? Do you have a photo?"

Grissom took the coffee pot from Sara and refilled cups. He said, "It's all science, Nick, my boy. Technology, research, and fantastic reproductive biology—absolutely amazing what's being done now!"

Playfully tugging on his shirt, Sara said, "Sit down, Gilbert—sonogram, Nick—shows every detail—right down to the Grissom chin. But we don't know eye color yet. That's a surprise."

Brass cleared his throat loudly enough for everyone to look at him. His face lit up with a smile; he lifted his coffee cup in their direction, saying, "We have a mini-Sara so it's only right to have a mini-Gil!"

Catherine's head dropped to touch the table. "I'm not sure we are ready for another Gil Grissom," she mumbled to no one. Lifting her head, she said, "One more tonight—Greg's turn!"

 _A/N: While this one was not a case from an episode, we thought it was a good one. We've gotten some excellent suggestions for 'unsolved cases'-what is one case you'd like included?_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: We appreciate hearing from all of you! Knowing there are GSR fans still reading Sara and Gil stories is encouraging!**_

 **Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 5**

"I don't know that I can talk about the one that wakes me up at night—the one person who 'got away'. I don't think it's a mystery—and—and there is no solution."

"Oh, come on, Greg—one bad guy who has gone unpunished—you can tell us!" Sara said. "Who is it?" She poked him with her foot as her voice softened. "The James family?"

He gave her a slight yet sad grin, saying, "No—no, I'm way over that one."

Everyone had moved back to the sofas, rearranged their seating; Sara had taken the easy chair and propped her feet on the low table. She said, "Tell us—who wakes you up at night?"

In a somber, tentative tone, Greg asked, "Does anyone wake you up at night with bad dreams?" He looked at Sara.

"No, my dreams are no longer bad. The only person who wakes me now is Beth—occasionally my husband pulls covers—but no one else, Greg." With a gentle, questioning smile, she asked, "Who keeps you awake?"

The others seemed to hold their breath as Greg appeared to struggle with his thoughts for a long moment as the conversation, with few words, had become an intimate connection between two old friends.

When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, "Hannah West."

"Oh, Greg," Sara whispered, "she doesn't, does she?"

Silently, he nodded.

"She shouldn't—I've not thought about her in a long time. At some point, I realized she'd have to live with what she did." Reaching over to Greg, she took his hand, adding, "And what she caused her brother to do."

For a long moment, everyone was quiet and then Sara said, "She's not a mystery—not for us—an unsolved case—two cases, yes." A brief smile appeared. "She hasn't become a serial killer, has she?"

"No."

Sara asked, "You shouldn't be thinking about her—or following her, finding what she's doing—you don't, do you?"

A brief nod of his head before he said, "I check out where she is occasionally."

With a quiet laugh, Sara said, "Okay, where is she—I'm curious."

"So am I," came from Grissom.

"She works for a testing facility in Iowa—been there two years."

Startled, Sara said, "What kind of testing facility?"

With a shrug, Greg said, "She writes questions for national tests—math questions, mostly—for high school and college-level standardized exams."

Catherine said, "This is the girl that created such confusion in a courtroom when her brother had been charged with killing a girl? And—she pushed a girl from a dorm room window? Wasn't she some kind of genius?"

"Yep," Greg said, sighing before continuing, "She is an isolated genius—twenty-four or twenty-five years old. She's had several temporary teaching jobs but doesn't stay long at any of them."

"Well, she was never charged with anything—another case where we know who the killer was but the evidence…" Grissom said, letting his voice fade. He knew all-to-well what had happened.

With a soft laugh, Sara said, "She certainly worked a crazy act on me—her poor brother didn't stand a chance—they had a very twisted relationship." She paused and patted Greg's hand before saying, "Don't do this, Greg. As a favor to me."

"She caused so much destruction—and—and you left," said Greg.

Leaning back in her chair, Sara said, "I did leave—but not because of Hannah West. She did give me the push but—but it wasn't because of her. I had so many ghosts in my brain, I needed to—to sweep it clean. I—I'm not sure what would have happened if I'd stayed in Vegas."

Sara looked at the others and smiled, saying to her husband, "I'm fine, dear. And can't we move on from Hannah West—surely there is another interesting unsolved case—some bad guy" her hand waved toward Greg, "who is roaming the west unpunished—come on, Greg!"

Several minutes passed before Greg said, "Remember Margot Wilton? Attacked by someone in her home who probably killed a woman and a paramedic—never found anything—and for years, I'd look at other murders for any kind of pattern or connection."

"Wasn't she attacked twice," asked Nick. "By someone wearing a black latex suit? He managed to hide in her house." He pointed a finger at Catherine, saying, "You and I went to a sex shop trying to find…"

"First lady of Vegas—had more awards than anyone in town. Black latex body suits—or something," Catherine said.

"Second victim was a mother—little girl said she heard a sound—she named him Sqweegel," said Brass. "Damn-est thing I'd every run into. Spied on three people, stalked, attacked them twice, killing the little girl's mother; killed the paramedic." He shook his head, adding, "The guy must have left Vegas."

Grissom had been listening; he said, "Tell me the details."

For fifteen minutes or so, the others described the case as they remembered it, mostly similar memories with varying ideas behind the attacks.

Nick said, "In the car wash attack, we decided the guy had to be in the car when it entered the car wash."

"Yeah," said Brass, "No one at the place saw anyone get in the car. Didn't we think he was hidden behind the back seat? And Margot Wilton described him as some kind of contortionist—dressed in shiny black."

"Oh!" Catherine exclaimed, "Remember his eyes—one blue, one brown!"

"That's right—heterochromia—Margot was the only person who got a good look at this guy." Greg said, adding, "I talked to her three or four times…"

Softly, Sara laughed, saying, "Did you tell her you were writing a book?"

"I did. And I might—I have lots of notes! She'd talk about everything in Vegas so I took a lot of notes. She said the attack came because she'd killed her son—which she denied—and no one was ever going to be able to prove or disprove it."

Grissom broke in, asking, "And no one was ever a suspect?"

"No," from Catherine.

"Never," from Brass.

Greg said, "It was as if the guy came into Vegas, stayed long enough to learn a few secrets about three people, and then moved on."

Grissom rubbed his hand across his face and sat in silence as everyone looked at him. After a long moment, he said, "Did you check all the Cirque people? If this guy was a contortionist—he had to—to perform—do something that kept his joints flexible."

Surprise flicked across Catherine's face when Greg said, "We did—nothing showed up that indicated anyone of interest—and Cirque has some very flexible performers."

"What about siblings?" Grissom asked. "A lot of times performers like that run in families. Maybe a sibling who didn't work for Cirque—maybe a member of one of their traveling shows?"

Nick, Brass, Catherine, and Greg exchanged glances.

Greg said, "We never checked siblings—just performers. All their names are in the file." He leaned back, smiling. "I'm going to check names again—maybe it is someone who travels."

"It's been—eight—nine years since this happened? What's the chances of a person working with Cirque that long?" Sara said.

With a grin, Greg said, "A lot of people stay with them for ten to fifteen years; some longer than that." He looked at Sara, adding, "I asked a lot of questions and took notes."

"Cirque relatives could be the break," said Nick.

Grissom reached for his empty cup saying, "We can't solve this one tonight—anyone for more coffee?"

Nick said, "Only if we get to hear one from you!"

Sara brought her feet to the floor, hands on the chair to push up. She said, "I know Gil's case—so I'm going to the bathroom."

Greg extended his hand to Sara; Nick, noticing, did the same, saying, "Let us help you up, dear."

All three laughed as she was lifted out of the chair. "I feel like I'm carrying around a water balloon," she said. "And I need to pee."

Grissom, raising both hands high and laughing, said, "Stand back, friends—never get in the path between a pregnant woman and her bathroom!"

Sara gave them a back-handed wave as she disappeared.

"We should all get some sleep," Grissom said.

A chorus of "no" came from everyone.

"It's early," insisted Catherine, "tell us the one you want solved."

"You can all guess who mine is."

Greg grabbed the newspaper from the floor, laughing as he said, "Let's see how well we do—write down who or what you think Grissom's case will be. The winner gets to buy breakfast!"

As he tore bits of paper for everyone to use, Catherine fished several pens from her purse, and the four wrote something on the newsprint. Grissom watched, a slight grin on his face.

He said, "I've never made it a secret, you know."

They laughed as Brass held his hand out to collect the papers. "I'm going to look—see who thinks like I do—because I think I know." After Jim Brass looked at what had been written on each piece of newspaper, he chuckled, wadded all of them together, and stuffed in his pocket. "This should be interesting," he said.

 _A/N: Thanks for reading; we appreciate hearing from you!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Here's the one...long one for your weekend reading!**_

 **Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 6**

Sara took longer in the bathroom than necessary; she loved every person in her house and knew they understood as much as possible her current condition had slowed her down. She was exhausted all the time; and silently thanked all the gods in the universe for Jim Brass.

Along with exhaustion, the pressure of pregnancy on her bladder caused her to think constantly about her need to go. It had not been like this with Beth who came into this world as a tiny scrap of humanity giving her mother a quick delivery after thirty-seven weeks of a perfect pregnancy.

She sighed. Not so with this trouble-making male baby. She'd had morning sickness for weeks, elevated blood glucose, swelled ankles, false contractions, an aching back, and leaky breasts. She knew no pregnancy was ever like another one; and was fairly certain this baby would be nothing like his sister.

Yet she was happier than she'd ever been. Motherhood had struck like a thunderbolt; minutes after the birth of her daughter, Sara knew she wanted another baby as soon as possible. Without hesitation, her husband-turned-besotted-father agreed. So when tiny, cooing Beth was about six months old, with hesitant approval of the obstetrician, Sara had started a round of treatments preparing her body for implantation. Thirty days later, one of two embryos resulted in a pregnancy.

Turning in front of the mirror, Sara studied her profile—placing her hand on top of her ever-growing belly, she realized there had been a shift in placement. She could place her hand beneath her breasts, palm almost flat against her chest before her belly swelled like a beach ball. Slowing turning, a perplexed frown on her face, she thought of the heaviness she'd felt for several days.

Another sigh before she opened the adjoining door to her daughter's bedroom.

The room still awed her. She'd turned it over to her husband in the months before Beth's birth while she worked with contractors and workers in the kitchen and bathrooms. They had lived in Jim's apartment for weeks when the ladder on the boat became difficult for her to navigate so they could supervise everything from painting to plumbing. And one day, Grissom had, probably as a joke, offered to decorate the expected baby room.

She had suspected for years there was a hidden instinct in Gil Grissom; his mother had a decorator's intuition and over the years, she had glimpsed the same in her husband. For his daughter's room, Grissom had taken a plain room and turned it into a sumptuous show of color. Walls painted lavender and peach so that neither pink nor blue dominated; Sara smiled as she looked around. Even Grissom had been surprised by the finished room.

From his mother's stored belongings, he had found a three-panel Chinese silk screen of rounded mountains surrounded in a mist, wind-blown trees, and a small pagoda. He'd hung it on a wall—securely—above the crib. A second screen of rolling waves of an ocean with an orange setting sun was on the opposite wall, waiting for the second crib that would be joining Beth's. A rocking chair, a colorful rug, and a long chest with drawers and shelves completed the room.

Sara rubbed her hand across her belly as she walked across the room to watch her daughter sleep. Her hand reached out to move one of the soft, stuffed animals in the bed, then moved to pat the small sleeping child. With eyes closed, the little girl's lashes were thick and so long they curled. A thatch of brown curls topped her head and curled around her ears. Sara could not keep the smile from forming on her face; to love this beautiful child was wonderful. To claim her as a daughter was a gift she'd thought she would never receive.

Briefly, she remembered the times she had thought she was pregnant only to find smears of red splashed on her underpants. It had been a miracle—science and technology had finally advanced—caught up with her desire to be a mother and the man she wanted to be father to her children had never stopped loving her.

Her smile grew as she remembered the exhilarating, delicious days on the _Ishmael_ as they remembered—quickly—how much they loved each other. Within a few weeks, their plans for a family developed and, at their advanced ages, decided there was no time to delay. They were considered 'geriatric parents' which had caused both of them to laugh for days—and know they would consider every day as a parent a glorious gift. After locating a fertility physician and clinic with a well-known record of positive results, pregnancy, to everyone's surprise, occurred on their first attempt. And on their second try, she was pregnant again.

She stayed by the crib for a few moments, enjoying the quietness and pleasure of watching her baby sleep.

Hearing laughter, she knew she should return to her guests but stayed by the crib. In a few weeks, there would be two babies; her hand returned to her belly as a dull ache she'd had all day returned. Two babies; softly, she laughed, shaking her head at the anticipation.

Heading into the living room, she heard a jumble of voices and realized they had waited for her to return to hear Grissom's story.

Greg's voice mentioned "Suzanna Kirkwood" and Sara stopped. In a flash, she remembered the young girl, killed in her driveway after being gang-raped in her home. For years, she had visited Suzanna's parents and, finally, had been able to tell them the rapists had been arrested and linked to Suzanna's murder; later, the two men had been found guilty, and sentenced to long terms in prison.

Catherine and Nick were in the kitchen, refilling coffee cups. Grissom, Greg, and Brass were standing near the dining room table, holding glasses containing an amber liquor, an inch in each tumbler.

"The hard stuff," she said with a laugh. "What brought that on?"

Greg motioned toward her husband, saying, "He needs courage!"

"To tell his case that keeps him up at night?" She asked.

"No, no," Grissom said, "I'm fine telling it—and everyone in this room knows who it is, I'm sure. We were talking about cases we had that we did not solve—not immediately."

"Who else—I heard Suzanna Kirkwood mentioned."

Greg said, "Clara James—remember her? In the trunk of a car."

"Sticky buns," said Sara. "Was anyone ever charged?

Catherine said, "Yes—when you were away with Grissom. I visited her father to tell him. Poor guy—it's so hard on a surviving parent—always asking what they could have done differently."

For several minutes, they talked generally of crimes committed and never solved; or crimes committed and never discovered until all evidence had disappeared. Everyone found a comfortable seat, rearranging places so Sara sat next to her husband and without preamble, Grissom began.

"I remember the red things," he said. "Everywhere I looked there were red objects—red pillows, a red lamp, red candles, a red quilt—red…" his hand waved, "red roses that were wilted—red in every room."

The four people sitting around him glanced at each other, puzzled, surprised at the beginning of Gil Grissom's narration; searching memories, trying to remember red objects.

"The red things stayed with me for years," Grissom said before adding, "And—and finding that red silk scarf."

Sara settled closer as he lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. His fingers gently caressed her arm as his lips touched her hair.

Everyone waited, a frown formed on Nick's face; Catherine appeared surprised, and Greg was clearly puzzled.

"Nothing was out of place," Grissom continued, "almost to perfect—to clean—to think a young woman—no, two people—could have been murdered in that house."

For several minutes, he stopped talking as he thought; his fingers continued to caress his wife's arm. "It was all done so—so skillfully. As soon as Doc Robbins looked at that butchered body—he knew who did it. Not who—not the individual—but it had to be a surgeon."

Catherine was the first to figure out the case when she said, "Debbie Marlin—dear God, you stayed in that house for hours."

"I did," he paused. "When I went in her house, I thought we'd have one chance to find her killer and quickly realized the house—the carpet—was too clean. The only footprints on the carpet were from the woman who called it in." He sighed. "I knew I'd find something."

"I don't remember the red," Catherine said softly.

Grissom looked at her, saying, "And the butterflies—remember all the butterflies she had on everything—and the jewelry. But it was the red that stood out—along with the blood in the bathroom."

"She had groceries in the kitchen," Sara said. "I crawled under the house."

Catherine looked at Sara, asking, "Did you ever see Debbie Marlin? She could have been your twin!"

Sara nodded, "I've heard that."

"I remember this one. All those doctors inside that house and we found one toe print and one hair," said Greg. "Why wasn't someone charged?"

"Not enough evidence," Grissom said. "We had two suspects—one left a toe print—one left a hair. There were several left handed docs—there was nothing other than what we thought was rage and Lurie was as cold as ice in Antarctica. Never showed a moment of regret that two people were dead."

Sara placed her hand over Grissom's. "You tried."

"Yeah, well—not enough. I—I got personal with him and he locked down. He should have been locked up."

Brass grunted and then said, "Does Sara know? What you told Lurie as he was leaving?"

Before he could answer, Sara said, "I know." She snuggled against her husband, turned her face to his and they kissed before she said, "We talked about Lurie for years."

Catherine said, "Is he still in Vegas?"

Grissom shook his head, saying, "He died of stomach cancer in 2010." With his hand, he pulled Sara's head near his, kissed her again, and said, "A very painful cancer is what I've been told."

"So he never confessed?" asked Nick.

"No," said Grissom. "He worked as a physician—surgeon—until four or five months before he died. I passed him in the hospital once and he never made eye contact."

"But, why him?" Nick asked. "There were others who got away with murder—what made Lurie different? Why is he the one you remember?"

Sara glanced at Jim, realizing, all those years ago, she and he were the only ones who were witnesses to Grissom's personal monologue with Lurie.

Grissom shifted in his seat, rubbed a hand across his face, and closed his eyes. He said, "Debbie Marlin looked like Sara—in that house—in her house, I was facing some—a ghost of my own making. I had—I had been in an apartment and seen similar things in it. I'd given a butterfly necklace to—to a young, beautiful woman and in that house, it all came back to me." His hand tightened around his wife's shoulders. "I couldn't let go of my job to—to have another life—a different life when I knew she was right there. Lurie was turned away by Debbie for another, younger man. He couldn't let her go."

Nick, Catherine, and Greg looked at each other before turning gazes to Sara and Grissom.

"You—Sara—he gave you the necklace?" It was a question filled with surprise coming from Catherine. She smiled, teasingly saying, "I knew you two were together before—years before the rest of us knew it. I went into the condo and found an old photo of you two in San Francisco—and never got an answer when I asked how long you had been together!" She made a funny sputtering sound that ended up as a laugh and a shake of her head.

A quiet chuckle came from Jim Brass. He said, "It took you long enough to make the right decision."

Nick and Greg looked astonished; both confused by what their former supervisor had said.

Reaching into his pocket, Brass brought out four bits of paper and spread them out on the table. "Well, I won," he said. Then he explained to Sara what they had done. Unrolling one bit, he said, "Catherine wrote down Hannah. Greg—Natalie Davis but that's a solved case, Greg." The young man shrugged. Brass turned to look at Nick. "Happy Morales! Why do you think Grissom stays awake over Happy Morales?"

Nick shrugged, saying, "Happy was murdered and it was never solved. It's one that's bugged me for years—that we couldn't charge anyone with his death! I thought Grissom would puzzle over how he died—who killed him."

Everyone else groaned.

Sara stood, saying, "I'm going to bed—my back hurts. I can't see my feet. My daughter will wake up before dawn. Talk until midnight—I'm heading to bed."

Brass raised his hand in a wave, saying, "Go to bed—I'll clean up and let myself out. I know a certain little sleeping beauty will be awake before any of us crack an eye."

"She's a good sleeper," said Nick. "Always first to bed and first one up!"

"I'll bring breakfast," Catherine said as she stood, shaking out her pants and smoothing hands down the front of her legs. "We'll bring bagels and muffins from the bakery near Jim's place."

Greg, on his feet, said, "Wait—we didn't hear from the ladies!"

"Tomorrow, Greg,! Good night!" said Sara, waving at them as she closed the bedroom door.

 _A/N: Most of you had guessed...but had you thought about the other unsolved cases mentioned? Or that others did not know about Grissom's monologue to Lurie?_

 _Thanks for reading-we appreciate hearing from you!_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** _We had thought we'd finish this one by the end of the month-one more chapter to this one! How many other unsolved cases can you remember?_

 **Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 7**

In her dream, Sara drifted in a translucent ocean, greenish-hued aquamarine, peering into an exquisitely fragile world, teeming with delicate life forms. Live coral of soft pink and blue-grey served as a background for rainbow waves of blue, red, orange, and purple anemones; red lace fans swayed in waves of bright green ribbons of seaweed. Jewel like fish darted by in the hundreds, slim as bullets, round as tennis balls, appearing to split the water into silvery flames of fire.

It was completely peaceful until suddenly, she was awake.

It happened so quickly. One moment she was dreaming; the next, wide-awake knowing she was in full labor. Almost four weeks early. She had two or three strong contractions, her water broke, and she knew she had to get to the hospital. Immediately.

Grissom was awake in an instant, as soon as she touched his shoulder. "It's time, Gil," she whispered. "This baby is coming—now."

Grissom switched on a lamp, saw his wide-eye wife, giving no indication of pain except for her hands in tight fists and worried eyes. He was out of bed, helping Sara with her clothes before she could ask for his help.

"I'm made a mess in the bathroom," she said.

Smiling, Grissom assured her he'd clean it up—which he did—before getting dressed.

She took three minutes to check on her young daughter, still a baby, a beautiful, extremely intelligent one. It had surprised Sara to find herself fascinated with every moment spent with her child, loving her, hugging and kissing her, laughing with her. And in a few hours, they would have a second baby, a brother for this little one, who would never remember a time without her sibling.

Greg and Nick, sleeping upstairs, were pulled from their beds by ringing cell phones and Grissom's panicked voice.

"We've got to leave, now!" He said. "Call Jim—he'll come—he knows what to do when Beth wakes up!"

A minute later, stumbling downstairs, the two men looked at each other and then at their friends heading out the door.

Sounding more confident than he was, Nick said, "We'll take care of her! Don't worry about a thing."

Sara looked worried, but both assumed it was because of her condition.

Once the door closed, Greg called Jim Brass telling him of the situation. Brass mumbled something about coming right over. Greg looked at the time and said, "We've had two hours of sleep."

Nick said, "I'll sleep on the sofa so I can hear her when she wakes up."

Without a word, Greg stretched on the other sofa, almost instantly closing his eyes and going back to sleep without a word.

/

…In a whispering slide into a pink and pearly day, before the sun was above the horizon, a second Grissom baby was born. Pain had been minimal with a quick delivery and, afterwards, Sara felt wonderful. In the moment of birth, her husband's arms had been around her as if he would never let her go, his voice whispering words into her ear.

When the baby was placed on her chest, the first hand on the baby's back was his father's. And Sara knew she heard a gasp, followed by "Dearest Sara, you've made a second miracle."

Every new baby was beautiful, but for his mother, little Henry was the most beautiful baby in the world. Long and slender, almost translucent, weighing nearly six pounds, with a perfectly shaped head already covered with pale golden wisps of hair that would eventually darken. Vivid blue eyes that would not change, because, as mother examined her new son, she knew his eyes, his hands, the shape of his nose, the dimpled chin were like his father's. Even fingers and toes were tiny replicas of those of his father.

Later, when Catherine showed up with flowers and a pale blue infant jumper, Grissom agreed to leave his wife and son. Obviously pulled between two places, Sara encouraged him to go home.

"Play with Beth. Promise her we will be home soon with her new brother," said Sara. "And remember—the new doll! It's in my closet."

Before leaving, Grissom took his wife's face in his hands and kissed her rather passionately.

Neither blushed when Catherine said, "I'm here. She will be fine—little Henry will be fine!" She shooed the new father out, adding, "Take a shower—eat—sleep! I'll stay until you return."

The baby, four weeks early, passed all newborn tests and measurements, and was declared healthy by a number of physicians. Discharge could be within forty-eight hours, and Sara, somewhat phobic about hospital germs, was willing to shorten those hours by double-digits.

Catherine, after diligently inquiring about all things concerning recent labor, settled into the extra chair, asking, "Any more babies or are you stopping at two?"

Softly, Sara laughed before she said, "Two—perfect family. One for each of us to chase." Slowly, she pushed her foot against the floor and rocked. With her index finger, she lightly stroked her son's forehead. Looking at him, the closed eyes with dark, gold-tipped lashes so like his father's, she loved him so much it hurt.

She said, "We won't have another. These two are miracles—luck—science—whatever you want to call it. I produced six eggs; only three made it to embryo stage and two grew into babies. It's enough." She smiled. "I'll not try again." She shifted the baby so she could see his face. "Two perfect babies—who would have imagined—at my age—our ages—we'd finally be parents."

Catherine's laughter bubbled and chuckled. "You waited long enough," she said as she rested her chin in a palm and leaned forward to look at the baby. "He's got a lot of his dad's look, doesn't he?" Her finger stroked the baby's head. "When I had Lindsey, I thought I'd have another and then Eddie—well, you know what happened with that. And I never got around to finding the right guy to be a father."

Cradling the baby's head, Sara said, "I always regretted that."

"What?"

With eyes suddenly shiny, Sara's met Catherine's. Sara said, "I've never told anyone, but the one unsolved case—the one death—I think about is Eddie's. I should have solved it—should have been able to bring enough evidence to the table to charge both of them."

"You did all you could do," Catherine whispered. "I—I knew there was nothing that could be done. Eddie drowned." Her hand went to her forehead. She said, "Like you, I thought about it for years—I've looked up Candy several times and she's always been on the fringe—sang in a club for a while, joined a band and traveled. Last time I found her, she was working in a bar off the Strip."

Sara held the baby out to Catherine. "Will you hold Henry while I do a bathroom break? It's time to feed him—he hasn't latched on well yet—which I'm told is a problem for preemies. He'll have to stay longer if he isn't nursing and I don't know if I could leave him here."

Once the baby was settled in the crook of Catherine's arm, Sara disappeared into the bathroom, returning a few minutes later. Catherine was cooing a simple melody to a whimpering newborn.

"My nipples are dripping," Sara said with a laugh. "Maybe that's a sign he's ready to nurse."

Catherine waited until Sara was in the rocking chair before passing the baby to her. In a few seconds, the whimper was becoming a full-blown cry. The baby nuzzled, whimpered a few more times, before his cheeks began to work and his little mouth was attached.

Sara sighed with relief. "Yes! He's latched and sucking."

Catherine relaxed in her chair. "I never tried nursing," she said. "Bottles and formula for Lindsey. And even with that, I was a wreck most of the time. Eddie wasn't home much—he barely made it for her delivery. My mom had gone on a trip to Mexico and did not get home for a week after Lindsey's birth." She laughed, saying, "Maybe that's the real reason I never had another one."

For a while the two women sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds were soft grunts coming from the baby. Interruption came with a visit by a nurse, asking questions and seemingly satisfied with answers, left the two women alone.

Sara moved the baby and settled back in the rocker, her hand curved around the baby's head. "You know, I kept a lot of cases active in my mind for years—Pam Adler's death taught me a lesson—let it go. But I still regret having no closure for you and Lindsey."

A sigh came from Catherine before she said, "I—I didn't help, did I? I wanted closure for Lindsey and yet I never talked to her about her dad's death until she was an adult—when she wanted to become a CSI. I asked her why she wanted to have that kind of career and she said she wanted to help families with closure." Another sigh, "I knew I should have talked to her…of all the cases we've had, Eddie's death is the one that changed me. I knew I'd be Lindsey's only parent and for a while she and I had a rough time, but we came to terms with life—and my philosophy has always been 'never doubt, never look back'. So I didn't."

"What does she say now? About her dad?"

A soft laugh; Catherine said, "Now, she knows how difficult it is to solve every case, to find closure for everyone involved. Greg has been a great supervisor for her."

Another relaxed silence settled between the two women until baby Henry's head turned away from his mother, his mouth opened in a milky yawn, and a faint tooting noise came from his bottom.

The two women giggled until one snorted which caused both to laugh even harder.

"Dear God," Sara said, catching her breath between giggles, "He's not two days old and already picking up his dad's bad habits."

 _A/N: We love to hear from readers...it's one way we know there are other GSR lovers out there! And if you love GSR, you'll love the last chapter!_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: _Thank you thank you thank you...we appreciate all of you giving encouragement to continue writing GSR._**

 **Unsolved Mysteries**

 **Chapter 8**

 _Time passed; unsolved mysteries and long-ago events became softer, diffused by time and place, replaced by other memories, other experiences._

 _A year later_ …

The ocean sparkled with thousands of dots of light as if a fairy had sprinkled glitter as far as one could see; overhead, the sky was as clear as a blue silk parachute held in place by an unseen cord. A high craggy coastline towered above a crescent shaped lagoon where water was still and calm reflecting sunlight like a polished mirror. A narrow sand beach, exposed at low tide, provided a private curve between two prongs of the cliff.

A bright orange beach canopy was set near the edge of the gentle surf where water lapped lazily onto the sand; near the canopy, a yellow sea kayak was pulled onto the beach. Between water and the canopy, two young children played.

The months between their births gave no indication of who was the oldest; wearing similar shirts, the two, only fifteen months apart, were not obviously male or female. The dark haired child was slim, long legs and arms, and busy with a bucket moving from surf to sand, apparently deciding it was her job to pour water on every rock along the beach.

The other child, a plump, fair-skinned little boy with honey-colored curls creating a tangled mop around his face, had a toy truck in his hand, rolling the toy into the water, laughing as it was covered in a gentle wave before retrieving it, only to do it again. A hat shielded his blue eyes but this father knew his own face was reflected in the face of his son.

Gil Grissom was happier than he'd been in his life. Rarely, some worry crossed his mind, but, just as quickly, he dismissed it, too happy to be cast down. A young family at his age was a gift he never stopped enjoying.

This was the reason for the day. Rolling in sand, paddling in water, wind blowing through his hair and feasting eyes on his two children and his wife was his view of heaven. His eyes turned to the woman at his side. He would never express his thoughts to her, but childbearing had given her curves she'd never had. Dressed in a simple blue swimsuit that sleeked over her body like water, she was perfect—elegant in an effortless way. His belly tightened with pleasure as his thoughts went to lust. He looked away, unsurprised at how much desire was generated by a look.

Grinning, he thought, 'She is eating an aphrodisiac.'

Sitting at the edge of the shallow water; Sara Sidle Grissom was eating a mango. She had just said to her husband, "The best place to eat a mango is in the water," as juice ran down to her elbow and dripped into the clear water.

Laughing, he asked, "Can I have a bite?"

Instead of handing him the fruit, she cut a long slice, juice running between her fingers as she put it between her teeth, and leaned toward him. Juice dripped to her chin; as he bent to take it from her mouth, he felt juice hit his bare leg and, as if legend were truth, the heat of desire grew.

Deflecting his passion, he made several loud slurping sounds as he sucked and nibbled the piece until reaching her lips, taking the entire piece into his mouth. Quickly chewing and swallowing while his lips were against his wife's mouth, his tongue raked across her lips before he kissed her. He murmured, "You taste delicious." Again, he kissed her, patiently stirring desire. Sara's arm went around his neck; the stickiness of her fingers did not bother him at all

Another voice, delicate with a gentle lift like silver bells, asked, "Mama, mango?"

Gil Grissom withdrew from the kiss, turning his head toward the voice of his son, but not before seeing an obvious desire in Sara's eyes.

The little chunky monkey of a boy was holding out his hand. Laughter came easily to both as Sara cut a small slice of the fruit and handed it to Henry.

The curls nodded as the toddler took the mango; before eating it, he turned, saying, "mango" to his sister. Much giggling followed as the children finished off the mango and another one before deciding sand and buckets were more fun than eating fruit.

For another two hours, the family played—stacking rocks, building sand mountains, filling shallow puddles with more water, and chasing small silver fish. As the incoming tide pooled over the sand, Grissom clapped his hands, announcing it was time for a boat ride.

The two children squealed in delight.

As the captain of their ship, Grissom worked to load up the sea kayak while Sara ran with the kids from one end of the beach to the other making a game of leaving no trace of their visit. Simple pleasures, he thought, as Sara corralled the kids and slipped colorful PFDs onto sandy arms.

With well-practiced ease, the kayak was pushed into the lagoon with the children sitting on top, Sara slipped into the forward seat with Henry between her knees. Grissom did the same, holding Beth, and turned the long, slim boat toward the larger one anchored in deep water.

The steady rhythm of paddling got them to the _Ishmael_ just as Henry's head fell against his mother's chest; he was asleep. Sara, with an experienced simplicity, hauled the toddler on board, took several minutes to place him in a berth, and returned to lift her daughter from Grissom's arms onto the boat.

"Are you ready for a nap, too?" Sara asked her daughter.

The little girl shook her head, curly ringlets bouncing around her face, as she said, "May I have an apple first? Then, I can take a nap."

Sara loved her children more than she could have imagined before they were born; she lifted the child into her arms, hugging her tightly, as she got an apple and placed Beth on a bench.

Both children were excellent little sailors, adapting to the boat as quickly as a sea turtle takes to water. There was never an objection to wearing their floatation vest or where they would sit while the boat was underway. A few modifications had been made for safety, strong nets attached to bunks, two child-sized chairs fixed to the deck, and two 'hook-on' seats on the flybridge.

With both children settled, Sara helped stow gear and fasten the sea kayak to the larger boat. By the time Grissom started the diesel engine, Beth's eyes were drooping into sleep and gave no complaint as her mother tucked her into the bunk bed.

They were in no hurry so Grissom guided the boat away from the populated edges of the island, taking a less traveled channel into the harbor. By the time he guided the boat into its slip, the kids were awake and sitting beside him as Sara dropped fenders and tied ropes.

A familiar voice called Sara's name; Jim Brass was walking toward the boat.

"It looks like everyone had a great day!" He called as Sara tossed a rope which he caught and tied to a dock cleat.

With his arrival, the children's feet danced with excitement but they waited until Sara stepped on the dock before lifting their arms to be united with the man loved as a favorite adult. He was not alone; Annie Kramer, an old friend from Jim's past, had quickly become a frequent and favorite visitor to the Grissom home.

Annie had arrived six months earlier and, after several trips back-and-forth, she had become an endearing companion to Jim Brass, fitting seamlessly into the unconventional family group. Grissom and Sara had encouraged Jim to marry this kind and beautiful woman. It would be a fine party.

Grissom waved from the boat already knowing he and Brass would be abandoned to finish securing the boat while the women took the kids. He laughed when he saw the empty stroller 'parked' at the end of the dock. Sara appreciated having another woman around and was grateful to have someone who enjoyed cooking as a friend.

With a chuckle he silently admitted all of them enjoyed Annie's cooking.

/ / /

Late in the night, Sara sat in the kitchen sipping tea laced with a few drops of brandy. Jim and her husband had cleaned up after Annie had prepared a sumptuous dinner of eggplant parmesan and spinach, mushrooms, and provolone cheese on fresh bread.

She and Annie had bathed the children, got them to bed, and sat on the deck talking until the men had joined them. Another hour had passed before the two left for Jim's apartment. Her husband had disappeared to his upstairs office, telling her he'd be a few minutes.

After checking on sleeping children, she'd taken a shower, prepared a cup of tea, thankful the house was finally quiet.

And decided she was ready for a little sexual excitement.

Taking her tea into the bedroom, she lit candles, filling the air with the fragrance of lemongrass. She quickly exchanged her tee shirt and shorts for a nightgown of black silk with a low, lacy bodice, one she did not often wear. And it wasn't subtle. She opened a book and curled into a chair in the bedroom, settling in to wait for her husband.

/ / /

Grissom had lost track of time; the moment he realized he'd been in his office for nearly an hour was when his nose detected a light lemon smell; unusual in a house with two small children. Going down the stairs, he could see candlelight reflecting from the bedroom.

He grinned.

Desire made him breathless as he entered their bedroom.

"Ah, hell, Sara. Look at you." He crossed the room quietly and studied his sleeping wife. Soft skin that hinted of gold and a day in the sun, inky lashes repeated in their daughter's face, and a mouth perfectly shaped to meet his. The black gown she rarely wore. "You are one gorgeous woman," he murmured. "And you are worn out."

The bed was turned down, the candles providing a soft glow.

"Let's put you to bed," he whispered as he slid arms around her.

She stirred, shifted, and snuggled. "Hmmmm. Gil."

"Good guess. Here you go," he said, laying her down. "Get some sleep."

Her eyes fluttered open. "I had a nap—all I need is you." Her finger slipped underneath one of the thin straps of her gown.

He leaned to kiss her and when her soft lips touched his, she responded with an unapologetic invitation. He sank onto the bed as her hand reached for him.

It was dreamlike. Scents, shadows, sighs, slow and tender; he slid into bed with her, floated on the easy strokes of her hands, the gentle rise of her body to his. His hands smoothed over her body and took from her with devastating patience. There was no wildness, no greed, no brilliant flashes of urgency.

The first crest was like being lifted into clouds. She moaned, one long low sound of satisfaction. Her fingers were in his hair as he saw the glint of candlelight in her eyes, watching as he slipped inside her.

His lips were against hers when he murmured "I love you." He kept his eyes open and on hers, watched joyous tears swim and shimmer. She rose to him with the quiet beauty of knowing love.

No one else, he thought as he lost himself in her. No one else had ever unlocked him this way; no one could give him what she gave. His thoughts and senses merged into a soundless cry of happiness as all awareness of everything beyond desire disappeared and the outside world vanished for a time.

 _The End..._

 _A/N: We appreciate hearing from you anytime you read one of our little stories. Thank you to everyone who reads; a special thank you to those who review and encourage! We're going to take some time 'off' to have some real life experiences but one day we will return with another story of Grissom, Sara and the CSI team._


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